One Full Circle
by Anonymous Homosapien
Summary: A pirate will always be a pirate. When you kneel before the marines, you are only a pirate. Your past, your status, your deeds, be they good or bad, they all don't matter. All that matters is that you are a pirate. Even if you were once a Celestial Dragon. Execution fic of an OC.


The Ignominy of a Fallen Dragon

_Shame typically refers to the social (rather than the personal) aspect of guilt as imposed by the society or culture, which has substantial bearing in matters of (personal and social) honor. _

There was a hushed rustle of cloth brushing against cloth. Metal clinked together discordantly, slate grey links swaying even in the stagnant air of the room. Plain clothes framed the slender body of a teenager on the threshold of adulthood. Dust motes swirled in the air, made conspicuous in the dim light that filtered through the dirty window.

A knock shattered the stillness of the room. Lucid sapphire eyes snapped open, glowing unnaturally in the dimness. Her muscles tensed instinctively.

An older woman stepped into the room, wrinkling her nose disdainfully at the barren room. A distinctive space suit covered her from head to toe, the bubble preventing the Celestial Dragon from breathing tainted air.

The ravages of time had not been kind to her face, but there was an aura of hauteur about her shoulders, though her fine features were currently twisted into a rictus of disdain as she eyed first her estranged daughter and then the barren cell. The bloodline ran true in mother and daughter; it was there for all to see in the high cheekbones and intense gem-like gazes, and in the innate grace that never left them.

"I'm glad to see you haven't lost your edge even after spending so much time with the _lowly commoners." _The older sneered, vitriol dripping from her words.

"Mother," A falsely welcoming smile spread over the younger's face, a flawless façade except for the hatred darkening her azure orbs. "It is such a pity that I'm unable to use the customary greetings." Shackled hands were lifted dramatically, the metal glinting menacingly in the light.

"What customary greetings?! Do not even presume to touch me, lowlife!" The other woman even took a step back, her wrinkled face twisted grotesquely. Even proximity to the dredges of society was intolerable, let alone touching them. And her daughter was no better.

"Then, what have you come for? Certainly not for your own pleasure." The daughter lifted one shoulder gracefully, her head tipped to the side in the very picture of innocence. A touch of frost had slipped into her voice, dusting upon her words like the fine powder of a first snow.

"Don't ask questions to which you already know the answer."

The daughter's reply was studiously neutral, and yet the words fell heavily into the tense gulf between the two women who were so alike, yet so different. "I have no need for your pity nor your assistance."

"My gesture was not made out of pity. I would never pity scum like you." The Celestial Dragon had regained her composure, her words now succinct and pronounced with an aristocratic accent.

The other female's eyes darkened with pain, her face bleak.

"But the family needs an heir. It is disgraceful that our line would stop at me. We are the descendants of one of the most significant Creators of the World. I offer a deal, a lucrative one: I will clear any and all charges against you, and in return, you wed a man of respectable lineage, and bear a child." When she spied the rejection already forming on her daughter's lips, she snapped. Grabbing the wretched girl by the threadbare collar of her clothes, she snarled, her furious eyes barely an inch away from the other, "Have you any idea what shame you brought onto our family?"

"If that is all, please, see yourself out." The girl stood up fluidly, force and authority compressed into that single command. Her face was uncompromising and chilling.

As the iron door slammed shut with a deafening bang, the prisoner still heard the words, "Do consider my offer, at least. See you later, Solaris."

* * *

_An explosion shook the ground._

_Even through the protective bubble encasing my head, I was choking on the smell of blood, gunpowder and death. Bile rose in my throat, tightening uncomfortably. A film of crimson coated the iridescent surface of my helmet, and I had never been more grateful for the extra layer of defense._

_A man lay on a bed of scorched grass; his face was seared into a mess, blackened and a mockery of a human head. But somehow I could just tell that his expression was filled with overwhelming terror and desperation. Somehow I could tell that his glassy eyes were looking at a nightmare. And somehow I could just tell that before he was claimed by Hades, his heart was pounding furiously with fright before it stopped forever._

_Gunshot after gunshot rings in the silence of the street. No one speaks. They all prostrate themselves on the ground, foreheads rubbing into dirt._

_As my mother digs her pristine white-heeled shoes into a bullet-riddled body, I see a boy. A straw hat sits upon his messy hair, and his soft, almost infantile features were contorted with incandescent rage. His hands, shoved to the ground by the man beside him, tremble, and I can almost see the indecision warring within him._

_It is a losing battle. No one would ever go against the Celestial Dragons, would they?_

* * *

_Pride__refers to a satisfied sense of attachment toward one's own or another's choices and actions, or toward a whole __group of people, and is a product of praise, independent self-reflection, or a fulfilled feeling of belonging._

There's something indescribably beautiful and calming about rain. The swollen gray clouds, the chilling wind, the bright flashes of lightning across the swirling backdrop of the slate-colored sky.

The rain. It is a purge.

Globules of water slide down my face, hugging the corners of my eyes before slipping to trace the contours of my features. One after another, perfectly shaped droplets plummet to the crystalline puddles beneath me, fragmenting and dissolving upon contact. Each one only creates ripples on the surface for a short moment, before the surface calms.

_Once I die, will anyone mourn? Or am I just one drop in a million?_

I lift a foot clad in tattered cloth, the drenched material weighing me down. Tentatively, I place it down on the slick, rickety stair. My first step.

I feel like I'm a child, learning how to walk all over again. My legs are wobbly and my footing unsure, and I know that it is not just because of the slippery steps. Chilly air is sucked into my lungs, only to be dispelled in a gust, returning to the frigid elements. My heart throbs agonizingly quickly in my chest, the rapid palpitations at the thin skin of my throat giving away my fear.

_I don't want to die… _

But my feet keep moving mechanically, one before the other. Left, Right, Left… Worn planks creak ominously under my weight. I can almost feel the phantom touch of tender hands pressing against my back.

_Straighten your back. Don't hunch. _

I can almost feel the gentle brush of smooth fingers along my jaw, nudging the slant of my head up a notch.

_Chin up. Be proud of who you are._

And I can almost feel soft warmth embracing me, surrounding me.

_Well done. _

Almost. Almost. Almost.

I think I hate that word.

I close my eyes, and suddenly I realize that the moisture clinging stubbornly to my lashes are not just raindrops.

* * *

_Remorse is a more direct and emotional form of regret over a past action that is considered by society to be hurtful, shameful, or violent. Unlike regret, it includes a strong element of desire for apology to others rather than an internal reflection on one's actions, and may be expressed (sincerely or not) in order to reduce the punishment one receives._

Did you know?

Everything slows down when you're going to die.

Every breath is a deep, languorous inhalation of cool air, tickling my parched throat as I exhale. I know that in a minute, my lungs will never again feel the refreshing caress of oxygen filling it up. I know that in a minute, all my lungs will be filled with is blood.

Every heart beat is a slow, ponderous beat against my ribcage, a never ending rhythm. I know that in a minute, my heart will never again pulsate in my chest. I know that in a minute, my heart will lie, cold and unmoving.

Every tear is a drop of liquid that leaves behind a frozen trail in its wake, desensitizing my sunken cheeks. I know that in a minute, no more tears will flow from my eyes. I know that in a minute, all the overflowing liquid will be dried.

I can almost feel the heavy weight of scrutinizing eyes upon my figure, but I only have eyes for one person in the crowd. Crystalline rain drops slide off the flawless bubble sitting upon her shoulders, covering the dark hair we shared. I can recognise her from a mile away.

_Mother._

"Any last words, _Pirate?_"

The words are meant to be cutting, to slice apart my composure. But the final straw is when cerulean eyes avert, a dark head turning away. Away from me.

_You won't save me, will you?_

For the first time in a while, I close my swollen eyelids, covering my blood-shot orbs from view. My nails dig into my palms, and little rivulets of crimson trickle down the tender skin.

"I don't regret it. I'm not sorry for any of it. It was my choice, my life, and I lived without regrets."

The image of a grinning boy with eyes shining with simple joy and hope materializes in my mind. The boy who had reached out his hand to help me, even though my mother had called the Marine Admirals on his crew. The boy with a straw hat and the big, big dream.

_Am I really guilty?_

I hear the heavy, muffled sound of boots thudding against the floor, which groaned in complaint.

_Five more seconds…_

I hear the rasping sound of blades being drawn from their sheaths, the rust hindering the slide of metal against metal.

_Two more seconds…_

I hear the almost inaudible approach of the twin blades, accompanied by the rush of air.

_Zero._

And the water is tinted red.

* * *

_A past._

_A present. _

_A future._

_Carpe Diem. Live each day like its your last. You only live once._

_I can't help but think that such sayings are made by fools. Fools who have never experienced the harsh reality of the world. Then again, who am I to talk?_

_I never believed in living solely in the present. What about the past? What about the future?_

_The past. Everyone had one. Everyone had gone by time. Everyone had indelible marks left on them, whether drawn painstakingly on their skin, or carved mercilessly onto their souls. No one could ever escape the grasps of the past. Past regrets. Past sins. Past happiness. The past could leave a bitter, metallic taste of dust, tears, even blood in your mouth, or perhaps some were still savoring the saccharine, ambrosial flavor of things that no longer exist._

_The future. Just the same, everyone would have one. Everyone had to face the indiscernible, the unknown path never before tread upon. The path shrouded by the mist of a time that had not yet come to pass, but a path forged upon past decisions, rash or calculated. Past mistakes. Every future is an intricate alternative, the drastic consequences of a choice at the crossroads._

_Living in the present make you blind to these things. To the past. To the future._

_But in that moment, when I grasped the soft, rubber hand of my future captain, I felt like one of them. One of the fools that only lived in the present._

(A/N: The future captain is Luffy… In case a rubber hand wasn't enough of a giveaway)

* * *

_Regret can describe not only the dislike for an action that has been committed, but also, importantly, regret of inaction._

Brilliant scarlet liquid bubbles on my daughter's lips, and I try in vain to tear my gaze away. My eyes are wide and horrified, as I watch her limp body collapse onto the rigid wood. At that moment, I forget every wrong she has done. Every disgrace she had heaped upon my name. Everything.

The crowd is churning in delight; some scream out in glee as they watch Solaris' blood drip through the narrow gaps in the platform; some smile with vindictive satisfaction, pleased with yet another death; others just stare on detachedly, unmoved by the removal of another pest.

_She's your daughter! And you left her to die! She's your daughter! And you left her to… _

A solitary hiss in my head, filled with lethal venom.

The tormenting sibilant voice winds like a snake through my mind, coiling tighter and tighter around my despair. My pain. My sorrow.

There is a hard, immovable lump in my throat. Moisture burns behind my eyes, longing to be released. To cry? How strange. I haven't cried for a long time.

_I don't regret it. I'm not sorry for any of it. It was my choice, my life, and I lived without regrets._

I still remember. When I had closed yet another door in her ashen face, the surge of emotions that welled up in a heart I had long thought to be shriveled and dead shocked me enough to be seized by impulsiveness.

I had apologized. _"I'm sorry." _Two words I had never said. Not to anyone. And especially not my daughter.

"I'm sorry," I whisper now, standing alone, _alone, _in the press of a crowd. A twisted smile crosses my face. No regrets? "I think… you'll be the only regret I ever have."

* * *

_Regret is often expressed by the term, "sorry"._

**END **

**The mother of my OC is Saint Shalulia, the only female Celestial Dragon that appeared in the One Piece anime if I'm not wrong. **  



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